


Midnight Lullabies

by morganoconner



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Pre-Slash, Singing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-05
Updated: 2012-06-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 23:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/424214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morganoconner/pseuds/morganoconner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coulson has nightmares after the attack on the helicarrier. Clint finds a way to ease them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Lullabies

Clint isn't even supposed to know that Coulson is alive, let alone what room he's being kept in, but Clint's never been really good at playing by other people's rules and expectations. And anyway, he's been coming here every night for two weeks now, and he's at least ninety percent sure that no one's cottoned on yet, except maybe Natasha because she's scary and ninja-like.

Either way, Coulson definitely doesn't know, which is what counts. He's still on pretty heavy medications, and Clint's been careful to come late enough that by the time he drops down from the loose panel in the ceiling, the agent is usually sleeping like the dead.

…which, Clint realizes with a wince, is a term he never wants to think of in relation to Coulson ever again.

It was too damn close as it is.

The point is, Clint's here pretty regularly. Usually he brings his reports with him to work on, or a book or newspaper to read aloud in a (very) soft voice. He has the weird idea that maybe Coulson hears him, even drugged to the gills and sleeping heavily, and there's a part of him that likes the thought.

But right now, that's the last thing on his mind, because he's just dropped down from the ceiling, a little bit later than usual, to the sight of the big bad Agent Coulson…twitching. _Whimpering_. Skin pale and sweaty and hands fisted in his bed sheets like he's scared to death or in pain or both. And maybe Clint should find a way to get a nurse or a doctor in here, but he's a man who runs on instincts, and his instincts are telling him to do something else entirely.

Without a thought, he drops to his knees beside Coulson's bed, smoothing a hand over his brow as he hums softly under his breath. When Coulson begins to visibly relax, the wordless humming becomes an actual song, and before he knows it, Clint is singing some of the same things he remembers singing for Natasha what feels like a thousand years ago. When they were younger and harder and she had nightmares that had her screaming herself awake for months after he brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D.

He's not sure how clearly Natasha remembers those nights, but he knows for a fact Coulson does.

_"Be careful, Barton. She's as likely to stab you as thank you."_

_Frowning. "All due respect, sir. She's human just as much as the rest of us. And humans, even ones like me and her, sometimes need a little comfort."_

_A blink, followed by a twitch of lips that could be a smile. "Fair enough, Agent. If you need some song recommendations, let me know. She's probably getting tired of Journey and Boston, even subconsciously."_

_"Yes, sir." Said with a grin and a salute._

Here, now, Coulson is sighing in his sleep, head turning to nuzzle into Clint's hand, and Clint finds himself sliding seamlessly into a new song, the words coming effortlessly to his lips even though he never sang it for Nat and can't even remember why or how he knows it.

"Goodnight my angel, time to close your eyes…"

He lapses into silence at the end, waits just long enough to be sure Coulson is sleeping easier, and then leaves as quietly as he came. The only thing he wants to do now is try to banish the memory of his handler looking so broken in his sleep, and he thinks Natasha probably has a bottle of vodka that will do the trick nicely.

~

He makes it a habit, after that, to visit Coulson's room at the same time every night, and he's glad he does. The next few nights in a row are all the same; Coulson trapped in nightmares he doesn't wake from, crying out and twitching and begging for it to stop, _Loki, no, please stop, please don't_ , until Clint kneels beside the bed or sits gingerly next to him and croons songs he knows Coulson enjoyed once upon a time.

Clint supposes he could actually try and wake the man. Maybe it would be more humane? He doesn't know if it helps enough, has no idea if after he leaves, Coulson slips right back into those dark dreams. But he just can't bring himself to do it, because he doesn't have the first idea what to say to him. Coulson died, or nearly died anyway, and as far as anyone else knows, he stayed that way. What can Clint possibly say? How can he explain how much it hurt, the way it felt like a punch to the chest when he first heard? How can he tell Coulson that he's so pissed off he could strangle him, and then in the same breath grip him hard enough to bruise and tell him he just wants him to be okay?

Coulson's been his handler from the beginning, and he's been Clint's friend for almost as long as that. Even still, there are liberties he doesn't feel comfortable taking. Sides of themselves they just don't show each other. He doesn't think Coulson would want him worrying like this, losing sleep over something as ridiculous as a few nightmares he's not even the one having. So he figures he's better off sticking with what he knows, and what he knows is that when he sings, Coulson breathes easier and sleeps peacefully. He can be content with that.

~

Two days later, the choice is taken out of his hands.

"Agent Barton," Fury says when he sees him. "My office." He spins on his heel and stalks down the corridor before Clint has a chance to respond, and goddamn but there are days he wishes he had an excuse to not put up with this shit.

Today, as usual, he has no such excuse, so he mutters a curse and takes off after the director.

Fury's sitting behind the desk in his office already when Clint gets there, and he waves a hand for Clint to sit down while he looks over some paperwork in front of him. Three minutes later, just when Clint is beginning to fidget and wonder what the hell he's done (been caught doing) this time, Fury folds his hands together and fixes his one eye firmly on Clint.

"I really want to yell here, Barton, but I'm going to try to avoid that, so do me a favor and just don't talk."

Clint swallows. Nods, because he's a little afraid Fury might actually end him if he speaks now, even just to vocalize agreement not to speak.

"Good." Fury spends another painfully long minute glaring at him before speaking again. "He's doing better, so I guess I should tell you 'good job', but that's not going to stop me from putting you on suspension for meddling in something way above your clearance level."

"But –" Fury points at him, and Clint's mouth clamps shut before he can dig himself any deeper.

"A week ago, he was still pulling his stitches every night, thrashing around too much to let his body start healing properly. We were afraid we were going to have to either restrain him or keep him sedated, but then you figured out the miracle cure." If Clint didn't know better, he would swear on his bow that that lip-twitching is Fury trying to suppress a smile. "Thing is, he's still not doing well here, and I don't blame him. So. Here's what's gonna happen. You listening carefully, Barton?"

Clint, his heart pounding for reasons he doesn't want to think about, nods again, careful not to say a word.

"I know Stark offered you a room in his tower. You're going to take that room, and you're going to tell him you're bringing a plus one. For the next two months of your suspension, you're going to keep an eye on Agent Coulson. You're going to make sure he gets the rest he needs, and you're going to make _damn_ sure he doesn't push himself." He eyes Clint. "Do we understand each other?"

Oh yeah, Clint gets it. He's being ordered to baby-sit his favorite handler. "Perfectly, sir," he says with a wide grin he really can't stop from spreading over his face.

Fury shakes his head. "God save me. Your team – handler included – is gonna be the death of me."

Clint decides wisely not to respond to that, and Fury rolls his eyes.

"Dismissed, Agent. A car will be waiting for you out front in two hours. Don't be late."

"Of course not, sir." Clint stands.

Just as he's reaching for the door handle, Fury snaps out, "Agent Barton."

Clint turns back. Fury doesn't say anything, but Clint can see the gratitude there anyway. He nods, lips quirking, and takes his leave of the director who isn't nearly as scary as he likes people to think.

Actually, he realizes, Fury's a lot like Coulson in that respect.

The thought makes him smile, just a little. He thinks that maybe eventually he'll be able to forgive Fury for lying to them after all.

~

Coulson seems to be about as pleased as you could expect by the news, which is to say, not at all. Clint doesn't take it personally; Coulson is used to being the one in charge and taking care of himself, and those aren't habits that break easily. It probably isn't helped by the fact that no one will tell him exactly _why_ they're trusting Clint Barton to play nursemaid, and if Fury isn't saying, then Clint damn well isn't going to. It's embarrassing enough that the director knows, probably watched him serenading Coulson over whatever camera he had hidden in the room that Clint was stupid enough to not notice.

He spends a good chunk of time listening to the instructions the doctor gives him, and makes a mental note to have Tony's AI upload the video of the conversation to his personal computer when he gets to the tower. (He doesn't even stop to question if the AI – JARVIS – is still hacked into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s mainframe. He doesn't know Tony Stark that well yet, but he knows enough.)

The ride to Stark Tower is silent, Coulson grouchy and in pain in the backseat, Clint nervous and on edge in the front. Clint has never been so grateful to Fury as he is right now (except maybe that time a dozen years ago when Fury gave in to Coulson's urging to let Clint be an agent), but as grateful as he is for the chance to help, he's also terrified he's going to somehow screw this up.

He helps Coulson out of the car when they reach their destination, and doesn't flinch when Coulson tries to glare him away. "Come on, sir," he says. "We'll get you set up in your room and then I promise I'll leave you alone to brood, okay? I'll even keep Stark off your back for a while."

Coulson scowls, but then nods with a tired-sounding sigh. "I'll hold you to that, Barton."

And goddamn, but it's good to hear his voice again. Clint decides that that alone makes this worth it.

~

To his credit, Stark takes Coulson's return in stride, and even refrains from making too many wise-ass remarks, at least until the man is out of earshot. Bruce, who Clint got to know a little better while they were both recovering in the medical ward after the battle, just gives a small smile and tells Coulson it's good to see him again.

It's Pepper Potts who guides them up to their rooms, apologizing for the mess that parts of the tower are still in and listing off all the places they may be interested in visiting when they're up to it.

Clint notices she has tears in her eyes when she glances at Coulson, and when she drops them off at Coulson's room, he's surprised to see him pull her into a one-armed hug when he thanks her for the hospitality.

"It's good to have you back, Phil," she says with a sniff, and then she's pulling away and heading briskly back to whatever it is she does while running Stark Industries.

"Phil?" Clint asks with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.

"A liberty you have yet to earn yourself, Barton," Coulson tells him, but his eyes sparkle just a tiny bit when he says it, and Clint can't help but grin at him. And somehow, his brain decides that now is the perfect moment for _Coulson_ to irrevocably become _Phil_ in the privacy of his own thoughts.

"Yes, sir," he says, faking a contriteness he knows his handler isn't dumb enough to buy for a minute.

He gets the expected eyeroll in return, and that's when he knows for sure they're going to be okay.

~

The walls on the guest floors of the tower are all pretty much soundproof, but that doesn't stop Clint from straining his ears for any noise coming from Phil's room while he's lying in bed that night. He's tensed and ready to run in there at the slightest sound, and it bugs him that this was a lot easier when he was sneaking in on the sly. With Phil more aware of his presence, he doesn't feel like he can just sneak in and wait for the nightmares to start, ready to cut them off at the pass.

Around two in the morning, Clint's just beginning to drift when JARVIS speaks up. "Sir, I was told I should inform you of any problems Agent Coulson might have during the night. His heart rate is elevated and –"

Clint doesn't wait for the rest, already tugging the door open and striding down the hall to Phil's room.

It's not a bad one, at least not yet, he sees when he steps into the darkened room. JARVIS sets the lighting just dimly enough for him to see by, and the gentle glow highlights Phil's pale features. His hand spasms against the bed covers, but otherwise, he doesn't move or make the slightest sound.

Clint sits next to him, grateful that the beds here are wide enough for him to sit comfortably without jostling or waking him. His hand moves to smooth out that furrowed brow, and beneath his fingers, the tension in Phil's face eases a little.

It's not fair, the way that unconscious trust makes Clint feel.

He takes Phil's hand, because it's still twitching and he hates seeing it. He expects it to wake him immediately – Phil's current drugs aren't nearly as awesome as the ones he had in the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical bay – but it doesn't, and carefully, he twines their fingers together as he begins to sing softly, another pf Phil's favorites. "Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun and I say, it's all right…"

The tension still left in Phil's muscles slackens as he eases back into a restful sleep, but Clint stays for over an hour, until he can feel his eyes drooping and his voice cracking beneath the yawns he tries to contain. Then he squeezes Phil's hand one more time and slips back into his own room, instructing JARVIS to wake him if there's any further change.

His own sleep the rest of that night is deep and dreamless, except for the impression of blue-gray eyes and the curve of a gentle smile.

~

A routine begins to develop during the following weeks. Clint spends his days learning the layout of the tower even as parts of it are being rebuilt. He can't get JARVIS to let him in everywhere, but he still manages to crawl his way into most areas, and the AI doesn't seem to have a problem with him going into the air ducts and crawlspaces he finds. There's also a training room with durable, built-in targets when he needs to let off some steam. And he finds himself doing his fair share of the cooking for Phil and himself and Tony and Bruce and Pepper as well.

When he's not doing any of those things or taking care of Phil (as much as Phil will let him, because Christ is he stubborn), he usually hangs out in Bruce's lab. They talk about a lot of pointless stuff at first, and then slowly edge their way into deeper conversations, mostly dealing with each of their personal guilt over the events that took place before the Chitauri battle. Things Clint knows he needs to deal with even if he doesn't want to, and nothing he's ready to talk to Phil about. But Bruce is easy to talk to, fast becoming one of his closest friends, and he has a gift for getting Clint to open up before he even realizes what he's talking about. And it helps, a lot more than he would have expected. Clint hopes he helps Bruce in some small way just as much.

The nights aren't as easy as most of the days are.

Phil doesn't have nightmares every night, but he has them often enough, and Clint can only do so much. Sometimes he finds himself in Phil's room two or three times a night when they get bad. It always seems to works, at least, his softly sung songs helping his handler when nothing else does. But it's not a cure, and it makes Clint's chest ache, knowing he can't do more.

Phil never talks about what he dreams of, although Clint can guess. To be honest, Clint isn't sure Phil even knows that Clint's aware of the nightmares. He tells Phil one day that if he ever wants to talk, "I'm around, sir," but he backs off fast at the look he gets in return and doesn't bring it up again.

It's about two and a half weeks into their stay when the worst night yet hits. Even JARVIS sounds a little frantic when he wakes Clint up, and when he reaches Phil's room, it's easy to see why.

Phil is screaming.

Clint actually trips and almost goes flying in his haste to reach the bedside, rights himself at the last moment and leans down to grab Phil's shoulders before he can hurt himself. No soft words or quiet songs are going to get through right now, so he does the only thing he can think to do and pulls Phil up and into his arms. "It's okay, sir. You're okay," he says, speaking right into Phil's ear. The man is bowstring-taut and shaking, still crying out as he struggles against Clint's hold. Clint feels pieces of his heart breaking at the pain he can hear in Phil's voice.

"Agent Coulson, you need to calm down," he says, as stern as he can be while he pulls back and grabs Phil's shoulders, shaking him gently. "You're gonna hurt yourself, and then Fury'll kill us both." Normalcy, he thinks. Old habits. _Please let that help if nothing else will._

It seems to, after a few tense moments. Phil blinks blearily, trying to focus on Clint. Clint doesn't give him much of a chance though, too busy wrapping his arms around him again, conscious of how careful he still needs to be of Phil's wound. "Dammit Coulson, don't fucking scare me like that," he breathes.

"Don't scare _you?_ " Phil mutters weakly. Slowly, his arms come up and around to cling to Clint. It's a weakness he's never shown before, and more trust than Clint knows how to deal with right now.

"Damn right," he bites out, closing his eyes. They stay like that for a while, holding on to each other until the trembling tapers off and Phil tugs himself away to lie back down, rubbing a hand wearily over his face.

"I'm okay now, Barton. You can go back to bed. I'm sorry I woke you…or well, sorry JARVIS woke you for me, anyway."

Clint shrugs, looking away. "No bother, sir." He doesn't stand to leave.

Phil watches him for a time, eyes boring into the side of Clint's head like he's trying to read his mind (which Clint is sometimes half-sure the man can actually do).

It's not a conscious decision to start singing, but when he does, it feels right. Like there's nothing else he'd rather be doing, and that's when he realizes that this is as much a balm to his own soul as he hopes it's been to Phil's.

"When this old world starts getting me down, and people are just too much for me to face…" Out of the corner of his eye, Clint sees the slow start of Phil's smile, and his heart feels suddenly weightless. "I'll climb way up to the top of the stairs, and all my cares just drift right into space."

It takes him most of the song to realize that Phil is mouthing along with the words, his eyes closed and looking like he's already most of the way back to sleep. Clint slides from one song into another, and then into a third, and by the end, Phil is silent and still and breathing evenly.

He's so torn, knows he should get back to his room and sleep, but he's still shaken by how Phil had looked, and he doesn't want to leave. Wants to stay here and take care of him, preferably forever if at all possible, and hell if that isn't a jolt to the system to realize just how deeply he actually cares for the man beside him.

It's that more than anything that has him standing, but he doesn't get more than a step away before he feels a hand wrap around his and a soft tug. "Clint," Phil says, his voice heavy with sleep. Steeling himself, Clint turns, thinking he's prepared for anything until Phil adds, "Stay."

Swallowing hard, he sits back down. It's pure panic that has him trying to find balance in old habits when he forces a smirk and asks, "Does this mean I get to call you Phil?"

Phil tugs again, and this time Clint doesn't even think of resisting, stretching himself out beside Phil and trying to relax. Phil places a hand over his chest, curls in close, and murmurs, "We can argue about it in the morning." There's a long pause. Clint thinks Phil has fallen back to sleep, and he's ready to try (and probably fail miserably) to do the same, and then, "One more song?" Soft and pleading, like Clint could ever deny him anything.

He clears his throat, turns his head so he can press his face into the soft strands of Phil's hair where he's leaning against Clint's shoulder. "Any requests?" he manages to ask. He wonders vaguely how long Phil has known, and why he never said anything. Something else they can talk about later, maybe.

"Surprise me."

Clint can do that. He grins a little, finding the words he's looking for somewhere in the hidden recesses of his memory. Lets them flow out in a soft melody. "You know I can't smile without you, I can't smile without you. I can’t laugh, and I can't sing…"

Phil smiles a little, nuzzling into his shoulder as he relaxes into sleep, and Clint holds him through the night, content to stay close and watch over him for as long as Phil will allow him to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Song credits:  
> Billy Joel – Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel)  
> The Beatles – Here Comes the Sun  
> James Taylor – Up on the Roof (originally recorded and performed by The Drifters)  
> Barry Manilow – Can't Smile Without You


End file.
